If the Shoe Fits (Meant To Be #1) by Julie Murphy

“I think I like him,” she finally says. “I know that the cameras want to see me swooning and losing it for him. He’s the one who decides who goes home, but I need to know if I want to stay here and fight for a chance with him too, ya know? I have a whole career back home.”

“That’s a lot to leave behind,” I say, suddenly feeling like I have nothing to offer—no career, no real family, and not even a home, technically.

“Look at Addison. One thing goes on the internet or TV and no matter how hard you work, it’s all you’re known for. I don’t want to make that same mistake here.”

I nod feverishly, because this is a concern I’m familiar with. The decision to be here at all is a gamble.

“He seems like a sort of normal guy, though.”

Thinking back to the guy I met on the plane, it’s hard to imagine that he would ever sign up for something like this show, but I’m sure he thinks the same about me.

“He’s got to know that any woman who’s saying he’s the one for her after just one night is totally full of it. Surely he has that much—”

She’s interrupted by a loud boom and then everything goes black, and the only sound echoing through the mountains is the shrieking of twenty-five women and the curses of a handful of crew members.





“We’re dark!” someone shouts.

“What about the backup generators?” another person yells back.

“Sara Claire?” I ask, trying my best not to sound like I’m scared of the dark. I’m not, but it’s also really unsettling to not even be able to see your own hand in front of you, especially in a place you don’t know that well to begin with.

I gasp as fingers wrap around my wrist and tug.

“Who is that?” I whisper as I trip over my feet, barely able to keep up in my heels. “Anna? Drew?”

I falter as I accidentally veer off the pathway into the grass, my heel immediately sinking.

The hand pats up my arm, steadying me. “Careful,” says a voice. But this voice is deeper than I was expecting.

“Henry?” I ask.

“We only have a few minutes,” he says as we take a few more careful steps.

I can hear him fumbling with something and then the clicking of a doorknob.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Watch your step,” he says, grasping my forearm now.

My eyes have begun to adjust, and there’s just enough moonlight that I can make out a bed or a couch and his silhouette.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, which is not what I expected to come out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that…I’m just shocked to see you. That’s all.”

“Shocked in a bad way?” I dare to ask as I look up to him, searching for the reflection of his eyes. “I guess the better question is what are you doing here?”

“Well,” he says, “I guess I’m here to meet my future fiancée.”

I cover my mouth to stop myself from spitting on him as I sputter with laughter.

“I’m serious,” he says with a lilt in his voice. “I, um, meant to ask for your number, though, so I guess this is convenient.”

“So you came here to find your wife, but you meant to get my number at the airport?” I can’t tell if he’s just not taking this show seriously or if he’s actually a total playboy, and then I remember what Sara Claire said about him likely trying to rehab his image. He can be as charming as he wants, but I have no plans to be a pawn in his publicity stunt.

He shakes his head. “Honestly, I don’t know why I came here. I almost didn’t.” He sighs, and I can smell the sweet wine on his breath. “I’m just trying to do right by my mom.”

“Your mom?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”

The lights flicker back on and off and then on again. We both blink wildly as our eyes adjust to the light cascading from the ornate chandelier overhead.

I can see now that he appears a little more distraught than he sounded. His forehead is creased with worry, and his bee-stung lower lip is turned downward into a frown. But then I remember from the plane how his almost relaxed, eternal expression seemed to be a slight frown, and I can’t help but find that to be just a little bit sexy. I’ve got a soft spot for the sad ones. The thoughtful ones.

“Your mom,” I finally manage to say after spending way too much time staring at him. “What does this have to do with your mom?”

He throws his arms up a little. “It’s a long story. I just…We need a win—the whole company needs a win.”

Faraway voices carry down the pathway to—

“Where are we?” I ask, looking around to see a half-made bed and a suitcase on a luggage stand. “Is this your room?” I have so many more important questions. “Your bed is, like, huge. Did you know they have us four to a room up there in the château? What kind of château requires four grown women to sleep in twin beds in the same room?”

That gets a chuckle out of him. “Yes, I know. I’m very lucky. But we’ve got to get out of here before they find us.”

My eyes widen. “Oh yeah.” I can only imagine what kind of drama it might cause if on the first night the suitor went missing with one of the contestants during a blackout.